


Masks

by MaxWrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, POV First Person, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-24
Updated: 2005-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy's the only one who sees through the twins' façade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

Let’s make one thing perfectly clear; the twins have never been normal. As babies, they’d only ever cry when they couldn’t see, touch or smell each other. Neither twin minded being lofted into the arms of a stranger, just as long as his other half remained close by. They were perfectly content to lie quietly on any soft surface, as long as they were next to each other. And they’d simply gaze at each other. In silence. Occasionally reaching out to touch.

Their first real smiles were directed at each other, and they refused to smile for anyone else for weeks afterwards. George’s first word was “fed”; Fred’s first word sounded like “joe”, but everyone knew what he meant.

Their first words, however, came a little later than they generally do for most other babies. And it’s obvious why. With magical twins, you run the risk of telepathy. If they can communicate with each other without speaking at all, or even signing (and add to that the fact that mum and dad learned to tend to their needs without much input from them), proper communication with others falls to the wayside. This is what we believe occurred with Fred and George. None of us was sure. They never admitted to the family that they possessed any telepathic abilities.

Well, their communication skills turned out just fine. When they were six, they approached dad with a business proposition he actually considered for a moment, until he remembered who it was coming from. When they were eight, they presented mother with a contract they’d spent hours hammering out in their room. Something about promises to do chores and not blow anything else up in exchange for later bed times and more privacy. It didn’t go over well.

They eventually became the resident clowns. You could always count on them for a laugh, or to modify one of their toys, so instead of lighting up or flying round the room, it would punch you in the eye and laugh. Their antics didn’t fool me, though. They displayed advanced magical skills early on. They’re talented and highly intelligent wizards hiding behind the masks of fools. Why, I’m not sure. To throw people off maybe. I think their biggest ally in mischief making has been the continual underestimation of their abilities.

The change was too abrupt. They went from eerily quiet, contemplative and serious to chatty, boisterous and goofy literally overnight. Everyone else seemed to accept it, and I guess I can’t blame them. But I never did. And the twins knew it.

Those masks of theirs, they’d fall away sometimes, when they thought no one was looking. Curled up on the couch together, hunched over a strip of parchment, planning, plotting, whatever, they’d stop what they were doing and watch anyone who entered or exited the room, with that same look they’d worn as babies and toddlers, before the pretence, before they’d discovered the value of masks. The stare is deceptively blank; there is much going on behind those eyes. The wheels are constantly in motion. When they regard someone this way, their expressions seem to darken. It’s like they’re observing us all, seeing how we move, how we operate, like we’re all different elements of some big machine they’re trying to figure out.

They caught me watching once. As they planned their nefarious plans on the couch in the living room. It was hard not to stare. If they didn’t want to be stared at, they shouldn’t have … they shouldn’t have acted the way they did. Their need for physical closeness never really went away. The way they curl up together, legs carelessly entwined, or a hand laid innocently on a thigh. The way George rests his chin on Fred’s shoulder as he watches Fred write. I didn’t understand why this behaviour never bothered anyone else. It isn’t normal. They’re teenagers. They ought to be dating, not cuddling each other on the living room couch. I began to wonder if I was the only one who was seeing these things.

Anyway, as I said, they caught me staring once. They looked up at me at the exact same time. Only their eyes moved. I have to wonder if they’d always been aware when I’d watched them. I think they must have been. And that shadow fell across their faces. They regarded me for a few moments, then someone entered the room, and they went back to what they were doing. I didn’t know what to make of the incident. But from then on, they didn’t seem to bother with their masks around me. In fact, from then on, they’d often regard me with that same eerie, calm curiosity right to my face, but it wasn’t the same, exactly. There was something else in their stare when it was directed at me, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

“I’m concerned about the twins,” I announced to my parents one night. They were sitting side-by-side in bed, mum with a book, dad with some paperwork. They simply stared at me.

“I said,” I began to repeat myself, but dad interrupted.

“We heard you, son. Erm … concerned how, exactly?”

“Well, I’m sure the two of you have noticed it as well,” I said as I paced before their bed. “They spend far too much time in each other’s company, far too much. I think their attachment to one another is a mite unhealthy, wouldn’t you say? Of course you would, it’s quite obvious. I mean, the cuddling alone -”

“Percy, dear,” said mum, “slow down. What’s this about cuddling?”

I stopped and frowned at them. “Surely, you’ve noticed.”

They had not.

“How can that be? They’re not exactly discreet about it.”

But as I scanned my memory, it became clear that the twins were very good about not appearing too physically close around other family members. It was only I they chose not to hide from.

“Percy,” said mum, “the twins are close because they’re _twins.”_

I shook my head and muttered, “They’re closer than you think.”

She canted her head. “And what does that mean?” she asked wearily.

Well, I couldn’t very well tell them what I really thought. Not if they didn’t see it too. I wasn’t even sure of what I thought. That the twins could … I mean, that they’d … well, that’s just too sick to even consider.

“As I stated before,” I said, “I think they spend an inordinate amount of time together. It’s not normal for siblings to shut everyone else out the way they do.”

“They don’t do that. Do they do that, Arthur?”

Dad frowned, considering. “I don’t think so. They seem pretty open with the rest of us.”

“‘Seem’ being the operative word!” I said. “That’s how they make it appear, but that’s not really the case!”

I could tell I was losing them.

“And how do you know this?” asked dad.

“Well, you see, there’s … there’s this look they have, a sort of blank stare that’s not really blank, they did it when they were babies, I’ve heard the stories -”

“But they don’t do that anymore,” said mum.

“Yes, they do! You just don’t see it!”

“But … you do?”

“Yes! All the time! And the fact that it just seemed to stop, well, didn’t that strike you as odd?”

“All right, all right,” said dad. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re right about this. What does it mean?”

“Well … I hadn’t quite worked that out yet.”

“Ah.”

“But, well … they’re just … not normal! You can’t tell me you think they are.”

“He’s got a point there, Arthur,” said mum with a grin. I had to suppress one myself.

“True,” said dad. “But I fail to grasp (a) how any of this is a bad thing, and (b) what it all has to do with you.”

I sighed. “It’s a bad thing because they’re clearly maladjusted, and I’d think that would concern you. And it has everything to do with me, seeing as I seem to be the only one who’s noticing all this.”

“You can’t tell us anymore about what you think it all means?”

I knew it was over. I had nothing else to tell them.

“No,” I said, staring at the floor.

“Well, it’s definitely something to chew on. Thank you for bringing your concerns to us, son.”

“Right. Um, goodnight then, mum, dad.” I nodded at each of them and backed out of the room.

I was making my way through the dim hallway, up the stairs to my own room, going over in my mind what I should and shouldn’t have said, when I encountered a twin waiting by the bathroom. I couldn’t tell which one he was. I have a difficult enough time telling them apart in broad daylight, let alone in the dim candlelit halls of our home at night.

“Had a chat with the parental units, did you?” he said. The voice didn’t help much; they sound frustratingly similar. I’d have to hear the other one as well before I could tell for sure.

“That’s really none of your business.”

“Isn’t it? You were talking about us.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Were.”

He didn’t seem angry. More mildly amused than anything. He stood with his back to the wall, arms hugging his narrow torso, staring at me sidelong. His features looked sinister in the low light.

“And how do you know that?” I asked.

I heard the toilet flush, and out came the other one.

“If it’s about us,” he said, straightening the waistband of his pyjamas, “it’s damn well our business to know, isn’t it?”

The one who’d just emerged was Fred. There’s a certain extra bite to his voice, an edge that George’s voice doesn’t have, even when George gets angry. Fred lacks George’s softness. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s there.

They both regarded me with their shadowy expressions. I felt like they could see right into my head.

“I’m concerned, is all,” I said.

“Who for?” asked George.

“You, of course.” I knew the reaction that statement would get before I’d even said it. And sure enough, they raised their eyebrows at me.

“How touching,” said Fred, his smile bordering on a sneer. “How very touching indeed. Hey, Georgie?”

“Yes, Fred?” George’s voice was almost a purr as he slinked closer to his twin.

“Ol’ Perc here is concerned for our well being.”

“Is he now? You mean he’s not just poking his pointy little brown nose in where it doesn’t belong?”

“Well, that isn’t what he said -”

“- so we’d better just take his word for it, eh?”

“Stop it! Both of you!” I snapped. They’d been staring directly into my eyes during that entire farce of an exchange and it was creeping me out.

“What’s going on?” asked a female voice. Ginny had poked her head out of her room. I turned to her, smiling reassuringly.

“Nothing, Ginny,” I said. “Go back to sleep, sweety.”

“We’re just having some fun with Percy,” said Fred. I looked back at the twins. Everything about them seemed to have brightened; their expressions, their demeanors, Fred’s voice, even the hallway around them seemed brighter, less menacing somehow.

“Again?” yawned Ginny. She muttered something about getting a new hobby as she closed her door, cutting off her voice.

“She’s right, you know,” I said.

“Oh, _we_ need to get a new hobby?” smirked Fred. “We’re not the ones snooping about in other people’s business.”

“No, I’ve noticed that. You don’t concern yourselves with anyone, but each other, do you?”

“Jealous?” asked George.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We see the way you look at us. And we know what you’re thinking.”

Fred shook his head. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“What’re you two on about?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Forget it. Come on, George.”

They turned and began descending the stairs.

“Hey!” I hissed, determined to keep the argument going. “Hey! You … you didn’t wash your hands, did you?” I rolled my eyes, wondering if that really was the best I could come up with.

They both looked back at me, Fred over his right shoulder, George over his left. They were smirking at me, and they did something then that both intrigued and repulsed me; Fred brought his hand up to George’s face, extended one finger, and George took it in his mouth. He sucked it for a moment before Fred slowly pulled it out.

“Nope,” answered Fred. “I didn’t.”

They reached the next landing and disappeared round a corner.

I didn’t know what to think. Well, I knew what to think, I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Vague, sinful images swirled round my brain, making me feel uneasy.

_“… we know what you’re thinking.”_

_“It’s always the quiet ones.”_

They couldn’t possibly know, I thought. _I’d know if my own mind was being read. And anyway, there’s no way either of them is a Legilimens. There’s just no way._

I lay in bed, wondering. They certainly weren’t a threat to anyone else. They could really only hurt themselves by closing themselves off from the rest of the world. Mum and dad were right; the twins’ business wasn’t mine. I closed my eyes.

Seconds later, they popped open again.

They’d implied they could hear my thoughts. I was the only one for whom they dropped their charade. But _why?_ I decided our little hallway chat wasn’t over. They were going to explain themselves.

I crept down the stairs to the second floor, which was illuminated by a faint sliver of golden light. It was coming from their room, their door open just a tiny bit.

“Will you put that away?” I heard one of them say. “I’m giving you my best moves here.”

“And a bang-up job you’re doing too,” said the other. This one, I’m sure, was George. “Excellent work, my good man, much appreciated.”

“You are not appreciating it, you’re going over the stats sheet!”

“Well, don’t you find it odd that the Fainting Fancies only work on three quarters of our testers?”

“Yes, it’s quite strange. What’s even stranger is how you can possibly ignore me when I do this.”

There was silence for a moment, and then George moaned a little.

“That is nice,” he said. “Mmm … Freddy …”

I stepped closer to the door and peered through the slight opening. I could see one twin lying on his stomach on the bed nearest the door. I could see from the small of his back down to about mid-thigh. On either side of him were the bare legs of the other one.

“He’s finally come down to see us,” said George.

“Well, it’s about bloody time, he’s been thinking about it long enough.”

“Shall I invite him in?”

“Mm-hm.”

Seconds later, I heard a quietly uttered spell and the door flew open. I straightened up and cleared my throat.

“Um,” I began. “I was just passing by and thought we might continue our earlier discus – oh, my goodness!” I’d finally looked up at them. Seeing exactly what I’d expected to see didn’t make it any less shocking. George was naked from the waist down, and Fred, lying between George’s legs, had George’s prick clutched in his fist.

“We were wondering when you’d finally find the nerve to come down,” said Fred. “Well, come in, then.”

I hesitated, trying to look anywhere but at them.

“If you want to talk,” said George, “you’re going to have to come in and close the door.”

“This is sick,” I muttered.

“What is?” asked Fred.

I gestured vaguely in their direction, without looking at them. “This! This … whatever you call it. The two of you. Together like this. I think it’s disgusting!”

“No, you don’t,” they said at the same time. I looked at them then, unsure how to respond. Was there any point in arguing?

I, against my better judgement, stepped inside and closed the door. I’d never been in their room before. It was much neater than I’d imagined it. In fact, it was practically spotless. It looked lived in, certainly, somewhat cluttered, but everything seemed to have a place. I couldn’t find anything that looked as though it hadn’t been put away. Except, of course, for George’s pyjama pants, which lay discarded on the floor. Three oil lamps were blazing, placed strategically round the room, along with little pots of burning incense. But no amount of fragrance could completely cover the scents that permeated the place. The scents of gun powder, Laughing Elixir, and something else I couldn’t quite place, not until I thought about it for a second; that room smelled distinctly of sex.

 

“Now, then,” said Fred, sitting up. “Why exactly were you discussing us with mum and dad?”

“I told you,” I said, examining the contents of the top of their dresser. “I’m concerned.”

“For yourself, you mean,” said George.

“Of course not.”

“You’re afraid of us.”

“That’s ridiculous!” I snapped, turning back to them. George still hadn’t covered up. He was now sitting up, cross-legged, next to Fred. They were both watching me with that calm, curious gaze I find so disconcerting. It might not have been so creepy if it’d only been one of them.

“How do you know what’s in my head?” I asked quietly, finally deciding it was pointless to keep pretending they didn’t.

“We can hear it,” said Fred.

“Just like we can hear each other,” said George.

“Legilimency?” I asked.

“We s’pose,” said Fred. “We’ve never told anyone else about it. Till now.”

“Uh … huh. So, you can hear the rest of the family too?”

“Yes,” they answered together.

“You’ve figured out why we don’t pretend with you, haven’t you?” asked George.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Fred.

I thought for a moment. “Because I never bought your little charade.”

They nodded.

“Why do you hide?” I asked, approaching the bed. “Is it that you like being underestimated? Makes it easier to get away with things?”

“There’s that,” said Fred. “There’s also the fact that our natural quiet sides tend to unnerve most people.”

“We learned that early on,” added George.

“Humph,” I grunted. Despite my efforts, my eyes kept darting down to the thick erection sticking out from under George’s t-shirt. The slit was glistening at me.

“You can touch it, if you like,” he said softly, uncrossing his legs and spreading them, leaning back on his hands and slouching a bit. That caught me off guard. I almost didn’t believe he’d said it.

“Um … what?”

“He wants you to touch him, you git,” said Fred.

“Yes, I gathered that much -”

“Well, come on.” Fred reached out, grabbed my arm and yanked me down onto the bed. George pushed me onto my back and straddled me. His cock jutted proudly from his body, pointing directly at my face.

“You want to suck that, don’t you?” said Fred. I couldn’t answer. My mouth moved, but I couldn’t respond. Not that I needed to. They already knew the answer was ‘yes’.

Fred knelt next to us, next to George and whispered in his ear, “Go on. Go shove it in his mouth. He wants you to.”

George gave me a seductive little smile and began to shimmy up my body toward my head. I stopped him. I took hold of his waist and held him in place. But touching him like that had the unexpected effect of turning him on even more. He arched a bit, pushing my shirt up and rubbing his balls against my stomach, squirming in my grip.

“Stop that, George,” I demanded half-heartedly. I tried to push him off me, but Fred got hold of my hands and pinned them above my head. The twins are indeed stronger than I. George took this opportunity to lean over and kiss me. I turned my face away, but he turned it back and held it in place. I grunted my protests into his mouth. He plugged my mouth up with his tongue. I found myself opening wider for him, even as I struggled to turn away. I found myself grinding up against him under the rather feeble guise of trying to buck him off me.

As soon as it became clear that I wasn’t really trying to escape anymore, Fred released my hands. He moved away, and I wasn’t sure what he was doing until George groaned and took his mouth away from mine. I looked passed his head and saw Fred kneeling behind him, over my legs, his waistband pushed down slightly. He was staring down, undoubtedly watching himself disappear into his twin. He gripped George’s waist and began to fuck him.

George closed his eyes. I watched him, mesmerized by the look on his face, by his little whimpers, by his soft, steady panting. My hands rested gingerly on his back, but they didn’t stay there. George’s moaning and squirming made it very hard to resist him, and soon my hands were up in his hair, then cupping his face, one of my thumbs vanishing into his mouth.

_This is so sick,_ I thought, as George sucked my thumb and hummed around it. The twins’ pleasure was evident on their identical faces. Their features seemed softer.

George released my thumb and buried his face in my neck. I embraced him, listening to his little noises of pleasure, feeling his hot breath on my skin. My hands wandered up underneath his shirt, onto his smooth, warm back. It was undulating as he wriggled against Fred and rubbed his prick against the hardness inside my pants. I rubbed back. I watched Fred as I did this. He was quickly slipping into the near-trance that precedes orgasm, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, his thrusts quick and steady. 

“Freddy’s gonna come,” George whispered in my ear.

“Y-you can tell?” I asked stupidly. Of course he could tell.

“Uh-huh. I can feel it.”

“You can?” That, I hadn’t expected. “Really?”

“Yeah. Talk to me, Percy.”

“… er …”

“Talk dirty to me.”

I’ve never ‘talked dirty’ in my life. Not even with Penelope. Our sessions together were silent and dignified. She’d never asked me to _talk_ to her. Not _during._

George let out a particularly loud groan and raised his head again. “He’s so close,” he whispered. “Talk to me, Percy. Please.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted, a corner of his mouth curling up into a half smile. “We’ve heard what’s in your head. You’re dirty like we are.”

“Uh, well, um … when Fred comes,” I began awkwardly, “does he, uh, come inside you?”

“Yes,” George breathed.

“Do you like that?”

“Gods, yes.”

“I’ll bet you like it,” I growled, startling myself a bit. “Feeling your twin shooting his … his hot, creamy spunk inside you.”

George rubbed against me harder, letting out a sort of sigh/groan. “I like that word,” he breathed.

“What word? Spunk?”

“Oh, yes,” George snarled, finally opening his eyes. He glared down at me, breathing as hard as Fred now. “I especially like hearing _you_ say it.”

That was interesting; that the mere mention of a dirty word could arouse him like that.

His mouth was right up against the corner of mine as he whispered, “Never thought I’d hear you speak that way. Talking about Freddy’s – _ungh_ … about his – oh, fuck …”

“About his spunk,” I finished the sentence for him. I said it with a bit of a grin, now knowing the effect it would have on him. He sucked air in sharply through his clenched teeth and rubbed against me rather roughly.

“You’ve, uh, you’ve tasted it, haven’t you?” I went on, still feeling awkward. He nodded. “And you like the way he tastes, don’t you?”

“You have no idea,” he groaned.

This was quite an intriguing concept to me as well. I’d never even tasted my own.

“Does he come right in your mouth?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You drink him down like milk, don’t you, Georgie?”

Both of them seemed to react to that, emitting low, hungry rumbling noises. Fred leaned over, laid his chest and stomach flat to George’s back, so that both their faces, those perfectly identical faces, were close up now. They were panting in unison. They were both about to explode.

Their bodies stiffened and they shuddered and bucked and cursed. Fred latched onto George’s neck and bit and kissed and licked while quiet, quivering groans issued from George’s open mouth, his Adam’s Apple bobbing beneath the milky, freckled skin before me. I reached up and touched it, my fingertips gliding across it until I was gripping his slender neck in my large hand, feeling the vibrations of his pleasure noises. My hand slid down to his collar bone, across to his shoulder, then round to the back of his neck, where it gripped just as it had done in front. He looked down into my eyes as he dampened both our shirts with his cum. Feeling his firm body writhing on top of me was driving me mad. I finally pushed down on his neck, brought his mouth down to mine and kissed him savagely.

I don’t remember feeling Fred get up. I didn’t see or feel him nudge George over onto his side, signalling me to roll us both over so that I was on top. I don’t quite recall Fred lubricating me, but he must have. All I remember is my sudden, overwhelming need, and my misgivings being pushed to the back of my mind, and George’s perfect, warm and willing body, his filthy words of encouragement, and the extraordinary tightness that seemed to suck me in, and how sweet and helpless, yet dirty and powerful George seemed. With each forward thrust, my pelvis came up against taut, Quidditch-toned muscle that seemed to pad my landing and hug me and cradle my hips.

Fred had removed his clothes and had settled himself next to George’s head where I had a perfect view of him. He leaned back against the headboard, and my eyes kept darting away from George, up to where Fred’s shaft was lengthening and stiffening again. He began to touch himself as he watched me fuck his twin. He watched us with that look of mild curiosity, mixed with a hint of lust. That’s what it had been, the one element in their scrutiny of me that I could never name. I recognized it now. It was lust.

He looked almost innocent as he bit his fat, red bottom lip. They both did. Their features, I noticed, seemed almost feminine, sort of soft and delicate in the warm golden light, their long hair adding to the effect.

“Do we look a little girly to you, Perc?” asked Fred, his voice soft and sensual.

“Does that make it easier for you to fuck us?” breathed George. Suddenly, he arched off the bed and groaned loudly. “Just like that,” he said, and he placed his hands on either side of my arse, as though to guide my hips. I guessed that I was hitting his prostate, and concentrated on maintaining that contact. In the throes of passion, he seemed even more feminine. Even more beautiful.

“Right there,” he said. “Yes. Ohhh, Percy …”

Hearing him moan my name like that was a pleasantly surprising turn-on. Penelope never did that. Penelope was never passionate like that. She never clawed at my skin or clenched around me with her muscles. Her eyes were never quite so warm, never held such fiery lust. Her body never reacted the way the twins’ seemed to. Not once.

“Well, she was a frigid, snobby, dried-up dragon’s cunt, wasn’t she?” cooed Fred soothingly, as he slid down and lay next to George. He reached up and caressed my cheek. “You’re better off with us. We’re your brothers. We know you better than anyone else ever could.”

“And we - _ungh!_ \- love you – _fuck!”_

I realized I was pounding George quite hard and pulled back a bit. The twins protested.

“Don’t!” cried George. “Don’t stop! Please!”

“You can’t hurt Georgie,” said Fred, still stroking my face. “And if you did, he’d probably like it anyway.”

“I … I wanna come,” I panted.

“We know,” they said together.

“Go on,” said Fred. He moved closer to me, propped himself up on an elbow and nuzzled my neck and ear. He whispered, “Drop a huge fucking load inside him. He’ll like that. Having both of us inside him all night.”

I turned my sweaty face slightly toward him, stared at him through my lust-haze, my eyes half lidded. He gave me a coy little smirk and kissed me gently. Next thing I knew, my face was being pulled away from his and George was ravaging my mouth as I came hard inside him. They were both caressing me as I buried my face in the crook of George’s neck to stifle my cries. I clenched my teeth in an attempt to keep quiet, terrified of who might hear. Terrified of hearing myself, I suppose.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” said Fred, pulling my head up as my body relaxed. “Huh, Percy, baby? Wasn’t that nice?”

Before I could answer, they were passing my mouth back and forth. They rolled me off of George, laid me between them and proceeded to fondle and kiss me.

“I,” I began, speaking between kisses. “I’ve never come that hard before.”

“Why am I not shocked?” asked Fred.

“Frightened you a bit, didn’t it?” asked George. I nodded. “You need to learn to let go. Orgasms are good. Screaming with pleasure is good. Dirty talk is good.”

“We’ll loosen you up,” said Fred. “Just give us a few days.”

“Y-you expect to do this again?” I asked, still breathing hard.

“Oh, yes,” said Fred.

“And we’re not taking ‘hell, no, slag off’ for an answer either,” cooed George.

And they certainly didn’t. They woke me up the next morning, an hour before my alarm went off, and crawled into bed with me. They were waiting in my room when I returned that evening. They visited me in the middle of the night. Days of this, and by the end of the week, Mr. Fudge finally had to ask why I was walking like that.

But the perversion of it nagged at me. Even though I kept letting them come to me. Even though I never turned them away.

They began shooting me secret seductive looks in the presence of family, across the dinner the table, for example. More than once, I got a set of very nimble toes between my legs, massaging me in a very inappropriate manner. At first, I wouldn’t tolerate it. Absolutely not. I would not allow my brothers to rub my crotch while I discussed work with our father and school with our little brother and sister. But one night, well, I’d had a bit of wine with dinner and it weakened my resolve somewhat. Add to that the stressful day I’d had at work, and, well … I didn’t know at first which twin was doing it. And it didn’t matter. I slouched in my seat, my half empty wine glass in my hand, my legs spread wide beneath the table, hidden by the table cloth.

“… but Fudge has really been breathing down my neck of late,” dad was saying. “He’s nervous about the employees being in contact with Dumbledore, so naturally -”

“- you’re number one on his hit list,” said Fred with an arched eyebrow and a nasty look marring his pretty face.

Mum was spearing her asparagus a little too forcefully, and her fork was clanging loudly against her plate. “That man …” she muttered.

“Don’t get riled, dear,” said dad calmly.

I was hearing their words, but none of it was really registering. I had to keep reminding myself not to move, it was so tempting to grind against the foot between my legs.

“What do you mean ‘don’t get riled’? He’s being completely irrational -”

“The truth will come out eventually.”

“Yes, but how many people will’ve lost their jobs by then?” asked Ginny. Mum shot dad a pointed look. His eyes remained on his plate.

“I am not going to lose my job.”

I was rock hard, my shaft pointing up and to the left, pressed flat to my abdomen by my pants. The foot was rubbing me up and down with steady, even pressure and speed. It’s a good thing there was conversation going on, or everyone would have heard the faint scraping noise the foot was making against the fabric.

“You can’t know that,” said mum.

“They can’t fire dad,” said Ron nonchalantly through a mouthful of mashed potato, reaching for another chicken leg. “He’s been with them since before time.”

“You think that matters to them?” said Ginny. “That Fudge is being ridiculous!”

“He’s terrified, that’s the problem,” said mum. “He’s driven by fear. Fear causes people to do silly things sometimes. I don’t trust that man, Arthur.”

“Nor I,” said dad. “But at the moment, there isn’t much I can do.”

I kept glancing at the twins. They hadn’t looked at me once since the massage had begun. My pleasure was mounting, and it was becoming quite difficult to keep my breathing steady and quiet. I took another swig from my wine glass, drained it in two gulps and set it down. I forgot where I was. I was leering at the twins, and everything in my periphery just fell away.

I reached beneath the table and touched the bare foot, just laid my hand gently on it. Both twins looked around at me, but George looked just a split second before Fred did. They both gave me the tiniest hint of a smile. I pressed on George’s foot, pressed it more firmly against myself. He took the hint and increased the pressure, and I continued to pet his foot as he masturbated me. My chest was rising and falling fast now, and I could very clearly hear the sound of my own breath. It did not occur to me to control it. None of the rest of the family existed anymore.

I was going to come. I was going to come in my pants at the dinner table. How was I going to maintain my composure? I had yet to have a _mild_ orgasm since that first night with the twins.

_I’m close,_ I thought, knowing they could both hear my thoughts, or, at least, would get the gist, sense the mounting excitement in my mind. I didn’t stop to consider how I’d hide the wet spot when I finally did have to stand. At that point, I really didn’t care.

My breathing was so loud in my own head, I still wonder how no one else heard it. My cock was pulsing and throbbing, and George was staring into my eyes, and Fred discreetly and seductively ran his tongue along his upper lip, and I was about to go off, I was about to erupt.

_I’m coming,_ I thought. George’s mouth twitched a bit, as though he’d wanted to broaden his smile, but then thought better of it.

_I’m coming,_ I thought again. _Oh, gods -_

“What do you think of all this, Percy?”

I heard my name. It took a moment to register that I was being addressed. I sat up straighter, pulling away from George’s foot, which he lowered. The pulsing pleasure died away.

“I’m sorry?” I said.

“Cornelius Fudge, what do you think?” asked mum. “You work closely with him. And you’ve been awfully quiet, dear.”

I realized how loudly I’d been breathing and cleared my throat unnecessarily, sitting up even straighter. My brain felt sluggish. I forced it to operate through the alcohol haze and the dissolving sexual buzz. I was able to come up with a satisfactory answer. No one batted an eyelash. No one realized anything was wrong.

The twins; their eyes were boring holes through me. Their gaze was all lust now. No curiosity. No shadow. Just pure, unbridled desire. I was hit by a sudden and sickening wave of shame. My cheeks flared up with it. I untucked my shirt to hide my erection, feeling that everyone at the table, on some level, _knew._ They didn’t, of course … but I couldn’t shake the feeling.

“You all right?” asked Ginny, who’d noticed my fidgeting.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, staring at my plate and no where else. I couldn’t look her in the eye. “I just, uh … it’s a little hot in here.”

 

I returned home Friday, late afternoon, and, of course, found the twins lounging in my bedroom. Fred greeted me first, flinging his arms round my neck and shoving his tongue down my throat. My body reacted immediately. It took every ounce of willpower I possess not to throw him to the ground right then and have my way with that tight, responsive body of his.

“Fred … Fred, wait. I have news.”

“If it doesn’t involve a lot of nakedness and groaning, I’m not interested,” he said and proceeded to bite and suck my neck.

“It’s important, Fred, it’s about my future.”

He snorted against my skin. “Then I’m really not interested.”

“What is it, Perc?” asked George, who was sitting on my bed, flipping through a book.

I stood up a little straighter, and Fred finally stopped to look at me.

“I,” I began, “have been promoted.”

“Promoted?” asked Fred with a frown, still clinging to me.

“Yes. Is that odd?”

“Well, quite frankly, yeah. What about Mr. Crouch? Didn’t they sort of blame you for that whole fiasco?”

“They didn’t _blame_ me, they just questioned me about it a little.”

I noticed them exchange glances.

“Well, congratulations,” said George, getting up and walking over to us. He embraced me from behind and began to nibble my ear. “How ‘bout we celebrate your promotion then, hm?”

His fingers were already unfastening my trousers. He got them open and plunged his hands inside while Fred kissed my mouth with an intensity that made my knees weak.

“Guys,” I said, taking my mouth away. “I wanted to talk to you about … about this, about … us.”

“What?” asked George. “Not frequent enough for you?”

“What? No, that’s not it!” I said, alarmed. “That’s not it at all! It seems like it never stops, quite frankly.”

Fred grinned. “Didn’t know your body could produce that much in a day, did you?”

“Produce what?” I asked stupidly, realizing what he meant before I’d even finished the question. “Oh – oh, that’s disgusting, Fred. No, listen, I – guys, please.” I shook their many hands loose and stepped away. “I can’t … I mean, this isn’t -” I stammered as I refastened my trousers.

“Are we going to do this again?” asked Fred in an exasperated tone. “We thought you got over it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” I muttered, straightening my shirt. “I can’t keep doing this. I mean, what if people found out? What with my new position at work and -”

“Who’s going to find out?” asked George. “And how?”

“I don’t know, someone in the family maybe?”

“If someone in the family found out, I highly doubt they’d go spreading it around.”

“Ron!” I said. “What if he found out and mentioned it to Harry or Hermione? You know they tell each other everything.”

“Nobody is going to find out,” said George, his voice that same low purr I’d heard in the hall that night. He took a step toward me. I was about to argue, when I heard dad’s voice downstairs.

“Dad’s home. The whole family’s here now. I’m going downstairs to announce my promotion. And you’re coming too, you have to be there. I want it to seem like you’re all hearing it at the same time.”

“Fine,” said Fred. “But we’re finishing this conversation later.”

I agreed. But we never did.

Dad was less than impressed with my new status at work. He told me so, and I … I might’ve said some things … Well, anyway, we had a bit of a chat, and I decided it was high time I struck out on my own. We all thought it was for the best.

I hope Fred and George found the letter. I certainly hope no one else did. Although I didn’t specify what exactly I was referring to in it, it’s still rather incriminating. There’d be awkward questions. Well, anyway, I gave them a little advice about how detrimental their relationship really is and about what they could do to break the habit. It is just habit, after all. Experimentation that got a little out of control. Clearly.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. They understand, I’m sure. They’re sensible. They must’ve known we couldn’t possibly continue like that. They must’ve known. It isn’t normal. They’ve never been normal. But they can be. If they try.

END


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